


Where You Are

by newisalwaysbetter



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Doctor Abby Griffin, Established Relationship, F/M, Family Dynamics, Feelings, First Christmas, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Humor, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Modern Era, POV Marcus, Principal Marcus Kane, Road Trips, Swearing, Texting, cuteness, raven is adopted, where are these kids' parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:53:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27427495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newisalwaysbetter/pseuds/newisalwaysbetter
Summary: From a request: "Kabby + “there’s a storm and omg i’m losing signal are you okay?? hold on let me drive 489432 miles to get you the night before christmas” (bonus points if somehow turns into ensemble AU because whichever of them drives cross-country picks up a few strays along the way)"It's the kids who decide they can't make it through this Christmas without her. He's just along for the ride.In which Abby is at Harvard, Raven was adopted like three months ago, and Marcus gets to chaperone four kids he oversees as principal.
Relationships: Abby Griffin/Marcus Kane
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	Where You Are

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nyxierose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyxierose/gifts).



> Warnings for minor cursing and brief, vague discussion of Jake Griffin's death a few years prior.

Marcus remains standing in the dark for ten minutes after the line goes dead. The room is dark, but fat white globs of snow fall past the window like ghosts, casting the empty bed in an eerie gray light. It’s falling heavy and soaked and laden with weight; there’s too much to fly, too much to drive, too much to make it home for Christmas.

The comforter is cool when he settles heavily onto it, turning the phone over in his hands. The familiar chasm of loneliness yawning within him is matched by the threat of a rising headache. Two rooms away, the girls are waiting for him to return, bringing news of Abby back to them. Unable to do so, he lingers here in the darkness, clinging to the echo of her voice another moment. There’s a lot that he’d give to hear her voice again, or to not have to explain to the girls why Abby can’t come back to them.

Their first Christmas all together will have to wait another year. He’s tired of waiting.

She had planned to be home that afternoon. Marcus had waited fruitless hours at the arrival doors in the hope that she might catch another flight, but he’d come home alone. Still, Clarke had stubbornly persisted in the kitchen, and he’d found himself playing sous chef. Her hands were shaking too much for him to either chastise or leave her to work alone. 

Besides, he’d recognized that particular desperation. _Maybe if I do well enough, they’ll come back._

Finally, he heaves himself up from the bed. Clarke and Raven are older than he had been when he’d lost that particular illusion. They’re better equipped to deal with the realization that some Christmases you spend alone.

The dining room is bright and warm and fragrant with the feast. The girls look up as he enters, their eyes and hair shining in the light.

He’s run his hand through his hair so many times it must look haggard by now. Clarke looks much the same. Thin strands of blond hair are slipping free from her drooping updo, and he sees her realize what he’s about to say, a second too late for him to soften the blow. Her smile dies on her face. What replaces it is a look of pity--for him, for her mother, for their broken little family.

Raven, who had been fiddling with the circuit of a broken tealight, looks up, her mouth slightly open in dismay. “Cancelled? No way.” She stands up so quickly her chair sways on its legs. “It’s not even that bad a storm. Jackasses...”

Comfort is still something he’s learning how to give, and their distress stirs something strangled and fluttering in his heart. “She’ll catch the next flight out of Dulles. This is temporary.”

“Screw that.” Raven stalks across the room, favoring her good leg. “This is my first Christmas legally being part of this family, and Abby is stuck in _New-goddamn-England._ ” She pokes him in the chest. Marcus looks away, unable to do anything but absorb her helpless anger. Not finding the fight she expects, Raven snorts and turns away in disgust. “I thought you of all people would understand.”

“No, he’s right.” Clarke cuts into the silence. Her voice is unnaturally flat, and she doesn’t look at them as she stands. “This is just temporary.”

He exhales. “I’m glad you’re seeing sense.”

“It’s only eight hours to her hotel.” Clarke pulls her hair free, letting it spill down her back. “Get your coats. We’re bringing Christmas to Mom.”

Raven wheels away to stare at her sister. “That’s crazy.” A moment’s confirmation passes between them; then she grins and offers her fist for a bump. “I like it. Let’s see how much Tupperware we’ve got.”

“Girls--”

Raven ignores him, flipping her cracked phone over in her hand. “Gimme one sec, I’ll text that kid with the car. He owes me one for rebuilding his radio anyway.”

“You’re forgetting--”

“No,” the girls say, as one, without looking up.

Marcus ignores this. “It’s only six hours to Harvard, even accounting for the weather.”

“In Bellamy’s car, it’ll be eight.” Clarke looks to Raven. “You really think you can make it run?”

“Oh, ye of little faith.” Raven grins and darts out of the room. 

A dangerous, committed energy is thrumming between the girls now. He has to stop this before they end up snowshoeing across the state.

He cautiously steps forward. “You do realize that Bellamy Blake left a muffler in the school parking lot two years ago.”

“I’m not judging the car on its ability to _muffle_.” Clarke removes her earrings and absently hands them to him. Marcus tucks them into his pocket. “It has four wheels and it rolls.”

“And whose license will we be appropriating tonight?”

Clarke gives him a dry look. “Don’t worry. I already made _that_ mistake once.” She shakes her head and goes back to her work, muttering, “Even Octavia’s a better driver.”

Marcus thinks of the younger Blake sibling, fourteen years old and already with a personal record as long as his arm. “You can’t wait until the storm is past, at least?”

“Mom’s already waiting.” She glances up at him, and the desperation there makes him ache. “Look, you don’t have to come, but you can’t stop us.”

“Clarke.” He won’t be winning any prizes for sensitivity, but he can at least drop his voice gentle and low. “There something here that I’m missing. Right?”

She stiffens, and for a moment he thinks she won’t share. Keeping the pain inside seems to be a Griffin family trait, even when everyone else can see it. Never mind; he can guess. “This happened before?”

“Yes.” Clarke sniffles bravely. “No. Not on Christmas. But she was alone...” She draws a shuddering breath. “Trying to get to my father.”

And it all settles into place.

They’re still figuring out where physical boundaries fall. But Marcus steps closer, and lets a cautious hand hover over her shoulder before resting it there.

“It was sudden.” She jerks--he recognizes it as a hiccup--and begins awkwardly collecting empty plates. “I was away at school. Mom went to a conference, just like this time. And by the time she caught a flight...” A shrug. Her voice is evening out at this point, the storm reined back in and filed for later processing. “But he--” She swipes a hand over her eyes, so quickly he could miss it. “He wouldn’t want us to miss Christmas.”

Marcus takes the plates from her shaking hands, allows himself a sigh to soak in the last of the warmth and the light, and says, “Go get your coat, Clarke.”

Her head pops up, her eyes shining. “You’re coming with us?”

“I’m driving,” he corrects, taking the plates from her shaking hands. “If only because letting my future stepdaughters freeze would put a damper on the proposal plans next week.”

Clarke smirks. “Good man.” She smiles like the sunshine inside can’t be contained, and edges closer, hopefully. Marcus brings her into a hug.

Clarke is a shadow and a magnification of her mother, and in that moment he misses Abby like nothing before. Until joining this family, he’d believed there was a limit to the things you would do for somebody. But Clarke is clinging to him like she’ll fall otherwise, and Raven re-enters and stares for a long moment before giving him a respectful nod, and he will keep this family together if it takes everything he has.

Then the front door slams open, and Clarke pulls away. “Bellamy?”

“Even better.” Octavia Blake pops her head around the corner, her eyes glittering. “Double trouble.” She catches sight of Marcus, and saunters into the room to punch him in the arm. “So you _are_ shacking up with Clarke’s mom, huh.” She calls over her shoulder, “Bell, you owe me ten bucks!”

“Miss Blake.” He manages a paper-thin smile. “I haven’t seen you in my office all week.”

“Hell yeah.” Octavia speaks through a mouthful of gum, and pops a loud bubble. “You haven’t heard? I’m back on the straightedge. For now.”

“Can’t leave her anywhere,” Bellamy grins by way of explanation. He struts into the room, exchanges a silent, intricate handshake with Raven, plants a hand on Octavia’s head, and addresses Clarke. “Heard you need a ride.”

“If I can make that junk heap run,” calls Raven from where she’s lacing up her boots.

“We talked about this,” he yells back. “You are not touching my car.”

“ _Mister_ Blake--” Marcus and Bellamy exchange thin _screw-you_ smiles-- “that pile of spare parts is not legally a vehicle, nor are you licensed to park it on school grounds.”

“Suck my--”

“Second,” Marcus says, breaking in before he can lose his temper and give the kid enough detentions to delay his graduation, “all of this is unnecessary, because we’re taking my car.”

“Aww.” Octavia droops. “No Christmas adventure?”

“No one said that.” Clarke steps between them. “The Blakes are coming with us.” He’s gearing up to argue, but comes up short because Raven is giving him a death glare he can’t read. “You’ll need to sleep sometime. Bellamy can drive then.”

“We’re not leaving my sister behind,” Bellamy says, and crosses his arms across his chest.

“I don’t think you’re in any position to--”

“Chill, Mr. Kane.” Octavia cocks one eyebrow. “I can be good. And, y’know, I got skills that come in handy.”

Marcus sighs. Bellamy Blake is giving him one of those _I’ll fight you in the parking lot_ kind of looks. “You’ll have to come along, then.”

There’s a general exclamation. Clarke turns to him, her eyes shining. “You mean it?”

Marcus looks down his nose at her, can can’t hold back a pleased smile. “I’m not leaving two adolescents without supervision. The board would have my chair by New Year’s.”

* * *

He can only be grateful that the _skills_ of Octavia Blake remain unused as they cross state lines, push the car over a snowbank, skid sideways on the highway, push the car some more, stop to load up on chocolate and coffee, give Clarke an impromptu driving lesson, and watch the strains of dawn begin to flow over the darkness, patiently, without mercy.

Abby is checked out of her hotel. Marcus realizes later that he must have looked close to breaking, because the kids, together, herd him into the backseat, squished between Octavia and Bellamy. Someone claps him on the back in sympathy. He hears Raven and Clarke navigating and driving, respectively, as though from very far away. And the snow keeps falling.

It has slowed a fraction by the time Marcus stands outside the car again, a comforting hand on each arm. He stares up at the majestic brick structure, utterly confused, and is suddenly cognizant of how very tired he has been for so long.

“Where are we?”

“C’mon, Mr. Kane.” Octavia’s voice is uncharacteristically gentle. “You don’t recognize a school when you see one?”

“Some principal,” Bellamy snorts, stalking past him, and _that_ snaps him back to reality.

“Harvard?” he says, stupidly. And then, to Clarke: “How did you know?”

In return, he gets a look of unbearable softness, that says that he has so much more to learn.

They encounter a momentary difficulty with the lock to the building, and Marcus is distantly unsurprised to find Raven easily disabling the card reader. That summons a particularly hostile security guard, but Octavia exclaims, “Ooh, he’s _cute_ ,” and bounces off in the direction of the guard.

Marcus watches her go, his heart lurching in two directions at once. “I should--”

“I got it.” Bellamy shoots him a look and heads off after his sister. “You’re...all right, Mr. Kane.”

Standing with the girls, Marcus watches him go. A small victory.

They slip into the building while the guard is distracted, and against his better instincts, split up to look for her. Tactfully, neither Marcus nor Clarke say a word when Raven spots a chemistry lab and slinks off.

“I...” Clarke pipes up as Marcus moves away. “Check the lecture halls.”

* * *

There she is.

It’s one of those cavernous auditoriums, a great sea of darkness, with a single brilliant spot illuminating the speaker’s well at the bottom. He can imagine her commanding this room all too well, but this morning she sits alone at the table in the well, bent over her computer screen and resting her face in her hands. She is alone, and the thousand dark seats reflect that back at her: alone and alone and alone and alone and alone.

With soft, deliberate steps, he descends the carpeted steps into the light.

From a distance, his woman is a blue-and-brown squiggle in the heart of the light, but as he approaches she takes on depth and figure, She’s still in her comfortable travel clothes, braid hanging over her shoulder, and her purse and suitcase stand ready beside her.

His heart breaks.

She’d been trying to get to them.

He’s close, now, and the light seems to cling to her like a film, flashing off her silver-streaked hair and unpolished ring and well-worn face as though coming from within. He’s still in the darkness when he first breathes her name.

Abby’s head shoots up, her nostrils flaring. She spots his feet first, descending the last of the stairs in the dark, and her gaze flies up his body, Marcus knows the moment she spots his face, because her mouth becomes a thin, hard line of pain. Still, there’s a reluctant kind of hope flickering in her eyes, and she sounds breathless when she says, “Who’s there?”

He hurries forward the last couple steps, down into the fragile light. “Abby,” he says, smiling, helpless.

But she’s already stood up so quickly she’s knocked over her chair, and hurried around the table, whispering his name. Marcus doesn’t believe that people can move in slow motion, but this is as close as it gets: Abby is coming towards him as if underwater, feeling her way through the empty air and reaching out as though he will disappear. From up close he can see the circles under her eyes, the ends of her scarf and jacket fluttering as she runs, the grime of travel dulling the loose hairs escaping from her braid--and he strides forward, catches her under the arms as she reaches him, and lifts her up against him. Abby’s arms are around his neck, hanging off him, and for a moment he holds her weight, spinning her, before her legs come up and around him, wrapped on tight.

He stumbles backwards, top-heavy, and Abby chuffs, low and husky, into his ear, before she leans back, counterbalancing. She’s smiling with her eyes, but when she laugh softly and brushes his jaw, it’s with a kind of disbelieving wonder.

Marcus bumps up against a desk behind him, and leans back, resting his weight there. Abby leans forward again, with surprising carefulness, and kisses him. For a moment thy freeze there, with Abby clinging bodily and Marcus supporting her weight and allowing himself to be devoured, chest to chest, heart to heart.

The first thing she says when she breaks away is, “Where are the girls?”

“Looking for you.” He’s still catching his breath. Abby leans her forehead against his. “You can’t have thought I wouldn’t bring them?”

“Well.” Abby rolls her eyes. “I wasn’t sure they’d bring _you_.”

He can’t resist a smirk. “Admittedly, they tried to kick me out of the car one hour into the drive.” Abby kisses him again. “I need to shave...”

“Says who? I kind of like it.”

That’s all the time they get before there’s a thunder of steps on the stairs, a shrill cry of “Mom,” and then a small blond cannonball rockets into them and wraps around Abby so tightly. “You’re okay.”

“Yes, honey, of course.” Abby squeezes her daughter, who endures this for a moment before wiggling free.

“Crap,” Clarke mutters, as quickly as she had come. “I left Bellamy watching the others. I bet they’ll try to microwave the Tupperware...” She kisses Abby’s cheek, squeezes Marcus’s hand, and orders, “Come find us,” before darting up the stairs again, into the darkness.

Abby turns on him with an expression half accusing, half amused. “You brought Bellamy Blake? ...Oh, no, you brought them both, didn’t you.”

He lifts an eyebrow. Abby snorts. “It was your daughter’s idea.”

“My daughter, huh.”

Their phones light up at once. It’s the family group text.

 **Raven:** can u heat gravy on a bunsen burner

 **Clarke:** NO!!

 **Raven:** how would you know have you tried it

“Your daughter,” Marcus affirms. She tilts her face up in silent request, and he kisses her forehead. “Shall we?”

There’s that look again, like he’s a bit unbelievable, with all the annoyance and cynicism and wonder of it. Then she swallows, flashes a smile, and says with gravity: “Thank you for bringing them here to me.”

He remembers this: years back, when circumstances had dictated that he be the one to retrieve her truant daughter and to be the one to return her. He remembers Abby’s white knuckles on her daughter’s shoulder, the askew hair pushed out of her face, the guarded, frightened eyes, and the words, like a blessing. _Thank you for bringing her back to me._

Her hand is tight in his. He could have this forever. “Let us meet you where you are.”


End file.
